


Hic Abundant Leones

by pixie_rings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Introspection, Jewish Pidge, Morning Sex, Multi, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Oral Sex, Pining, Pre-Canon, Vaginal Sex, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8380765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: Here Be Lions
 A collection of Voltron ficlets from Tumblr. Some focus on relationships, some on friendships.





	1. Harmonised

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just stuff that isn't quite big enough to be its own fic, collected together. All Canonverse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coran and Alfor share a brief moment of calm in the storm of war.

He should have been quicker. It felt like an amateur’s mistake, something a cadet that had barely walked past the boot camp gates would make. It stung every time he moved, reminding him of how sloppy his footwork, how inferior his swordsmanship and how dull his reflexes had been.

And how he’d almost lost…

He took a deep breath through his nose and suffocated that thought before it could even end. He’d done his duty, and that was what was important.

He pulled on his shirt, buttoned it, smoothed any creases there might have been, made sure no edge of bandages was visible. He could ignore the pain with ease – he’d had worse.

“Coran.”

It was also tremendously easy to beam at the King as he stood in Coran’s doorway, to slip on the easy, funny man routine that made Alfor smile and Allura laugh. Sometimes he had an inkling it was the only thing keeping him and everyone else sane in this war.

“Ah, Your Majesty!”

Alfor frowned. “No one else is here,” he said. “The formalities are unnecessary.” He stepped into the room, over to where Coran stood. Coran was getting so used to seeing him in armour, constantly, that to see him in court clothes was a surprise.

“Alfor,” he conceded, allowing his smile to soften into sincere affection rather than a charade of good humour.

“Are you all right?” Alfor asked. He placed a hand on Coran’s upper arm, used his thumb to caress the place on his shoulder where the sword had made its mark, the Galra energy blade searing through flesh as much as the diplomatic betrayal. Coran watched his hand, allowed himself to just feel it.

“I’m fine, Alfor,” he said. “You know me, I’m tough.”

Alfor chuckled. “I know. But don’t do that again.”

Coran hesitated. Alfor’s eyes were pained, the lines at the corners more evident, his brow creased. Coran touched his wrist, his own fingers mimicking how gentle the King’s were.

“You know I can’t promise that,” he said. Alfor shook his head.

“I can take a hit, you know,” he said. His other hand went to Coran’s face, gently tracing his markings, making Coran close his eyes at the intimacy of the touch. “What I can’t do is lose you this soon.”

Coran opened his eyes again, breath hitching. “Neither can I,” he replied.

Alfor pulled him closer, kissed him, and it was overwhelming, a floodgate opening. Coran pressed back, pouring everything he could into the kiss. It held fear, and anxiety, and desperation, nothing like the first one, so many years ago. There was no hope in this kiss.

They parted, pressed their foreheads together, eyes still closed and breathing in sync. There it was, the soft touch of energy through their joined hands, Alfor’s mingling with his own as their hearts beat to the same rhythm. It felt like forever since they’d allowed themselves to share this.

“Sire!”

The moment broke, the energy thread snapped, and Coran was alone again. He saw Alfor wince, and go from the man he loved to the king he served in less time than it took for Coran’s heartbeat to forget their harmony.

“What is it?” he asked. The guard in the doorway saluted with her hand on her heart.

“General Tazaleen requests your presence in the war room, Your Majesty!” she said. “And Lord Coran’s as well.”

“Very well,” Alfor said. “We shall be along shortly.”

Once she was gone, he sighed, and the weariness broke Coran’s heart.

“Duty calls.”

“I know,” Coran said. “But, look on the bright side! At least it’s not Voz asking for you!”

Alfor laughed, that deep pleasant rumble that reminded Coran of simpler times and brighter days, of thyrox trees in autumn.

“You always know what to say, don’t you, _sheonath_?” he said, and chuckled again at the way Coran’s cheeks turned pink. Together, their steps in time without them meaning to, they made their way to the war room.


	2. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge learns to say sorry.

It's after the food goo incident, after they've formed Voltron of their own volition for the first time and kicked proverbial ass that Shiro pulls them aside, a concerned look on his face.

“Listen, Pidge,” he says, quietly. Pidge nervously wonders what they've done wrong, if they've done anything wrong.

“It was Lance,” they say quickly, before Shiro can even continue. Shiro's frown deepens and they don't know why, but it makes them want to shuffle their feet and stare at the floor. They struggle to keep eye contact.

“No, it was you,” he says. Pidge's head sinks down into their shoulders. “You can't dodge out of this one.”

“What'd I _do_?” Pidge whines. Hopefully they can get this over with quickly and they'll be free as a bird for the rest of the night, free to try and find Dad and Matt. Because that's what's important: not Shiro trying to act like some sort of hybrid brother-father surrogate, not aliens, not Voltron.

They're _somewhere_ out there, they just have to keep searching.

“What you said to Allura earlier...” Shiro rubs the back of his head, sighs. His disappointment is surprisingly painful, but Pidge tries their damnedest to shake it off.

“What? 'Princess of what'?” they repeat, cocking their head to the side in confusion. “It's true!”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. He doesn't look impressed: in fact, he looks so much the opposite of impressed it's a little scary. Pidge quails a little.

“Her entire planet is dead, Pidge,” he says, his voice grave. “All her people. Her home is gone. All she has left is Coran.”

Pidge twitches. Ok, maybe they were a little... hasty. But they're not going to say sorry. Allura is not _their_ princess, she isn't _anybody's_ except Coran's, and Pidge is under no obligation to listen to her, Voltron or no Voltron. The Green Lion is just a temporary thing, a bump in the road or a means to an end. Who cares about the universe when Dad and Matt are out there, lost, imprisoned? Pidge doesn't care about the rest of the universe.

“Yeah, ok. I wasn't nice,” Pidge mumbles, folding their arms. Shiro sighs again, it sounds a lot more long-suffering.

“I can't force you to say sorry,” he says, “I'm not going to treat you like a child, if you're fighting with us. But... just think about what you said. I mean... you, of all people, should know, shouldn't you?”

Pidge's ears burn as he heads off down the hallway, and she wonders what the hell he means by that, because... how could he even _know_?

* * *

Allura is still recovering from gifting her energy to the Balmera, and now from the destruction of her father's memories. She's been oddly sullen for the last few days, spending time alone, lost in her thoughts. Everyone gives her a wide berth, respecting her need for solitude. She only really talks to Shiro, right now.

Pidge thinks they understand better, now. They think back to the first few weeks, the anger and the fear and the desperation, the sheer dogged pursuit of the slightest clue without a care about the trillions and trillions of people Zarkon has enslaved and tortured and murdered. There are other fathers out there, other brothers, sisters, mothers, wives, husbands, children... lost or disappeared, and they have a chance to help them. A huge shiny saviour of a robot that can just zoom in and help everyone and anyone that might need it...

It's more than what other people have had.

Pidge finds Allura in her new favourite haunt, the observation deck. She's sitting on the loveseat, one of the mice on shoulder, just... gazing out into space. She looks beautiful, but also like she's incredibly lost, kind of like one of the paintings of sad ladies in the galleries their mom would drag them to when it was one of her weekends to chose the activity on.

“Hey,” Pidge pipes up, hands behind their back, scuffing the ground with their foot. Allura looks at them, smiles a warm, sisterly smile that reminds Pidge a little of their mother.

“Hello, Pidge. How can I help you?”

“Can I... can I sit down?” Pidge asks. Allura nods.

“Certainly.”

The remaining mice relocate from the seat to her lap, and she pats the cushion. Pidge sits, knees pressed together, chewing their lip.

How to even _start_?

They've been thinking about this, about Shiro's words (which make a lot more sense now Pidge knows he knew who they were), about... everything. About what they'd said. It's taken time to come to a conclusion and manage to put thoughts into words, to make sense of it all.

It's not good to mock someone for having lost everything.

“I, uh... I wanted to say sorry,” Pidge mumbles, rubbing their arm.

“Sorry for what?” Allura asks, bewildered.

“Sorry for... what I said to you. It wasn't right, it was immature and stupid and selfish.”

“Oh, Pidge, you were hurting, you lashed out. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Allura's hand is warm on their shoulder, comforting. She smells nice, like flowers. Pidge feels a sudden, terrible ache in their chest, short, sandy blonde hair and laughter lines flashing in their mind, a soft body and a warm embrace. They blink back tears. Allura's scent is nothing like Mom's, but Mom always liked rose and flowers bring back memories.

“No, I do. I...” They sigh, removing their glasses and rubbing at their eyes. “I'm Jewish, on my mom's side. Well, kind of, it's more like, well... Judaism is passed down through the maternal line and my grandpa married a gentile so, uh... anyway.”

“Pidge, I... I'm not quite sure what _Jewish_ is,” Allura admits.

Oh. Right. “Um... it's a religion, but it's also an ethnicity on Earth? It's like, uh... I'm sure Shiro could explain it better, to be honest.”

“It's fine, I understand a bit better now.”

Allura's way too kind, but Pidge is grateful: they know perfectly well she's going to ask Shiro later. “Well, uh... years and years ago, there was a war on Earth, and this dictator named Hitler really hated Jews so he kind of herded them– us– _them_ all up and into camps and... and...” They take a breath, Allura's hand squeezes reassuringly. “Grandpa would tell Matt about it, because Matt wanted to know, and I overheard. My great-grandpa was the only one left of his family. Everyone else was dead. They came from this tiny village in Poland and when he went back, he was the only one, everyone else was... So he went to America, and that was it... I didn't really understand it, then.”

Pidge looks at their glasses, looks at the lights glinting off them.

“I think I do now, though. He... it must have been like what you felt. I'm not really Jewish. And Earth is still there. But... I'm sorry, Allura. I really am.”

“Oh, Pidge.”

Allura tucks their head under her chin, wraps her arms around them, deceptively strong. Her hand goes to their hair, carding her fingers through it gently, and Pidge can't help the tears that start rolling down their cheeks. When was the last time someone touched them like this? When was the last time someone held them?

“Thank you,” Allura murmurs. “It was very brave of you to tell me this.”

Pidge lets out a sob, their shoulders trembling. Their tears are soaking through Allura's dress and it's probably getting all snotty but Allura doesn't seem to care. She just lets Pidge cry themselves out, tender and strong at the same time, until they have no more tears left to shed.

Pidge pulls back, wiping their nose with their sleeve. “S-sorry,” they mumble.

“Don't be silly,” Allura says softly. “Dresses can be washed.” She tucks part of Pidge's bangs back, smiles warmly. “Thank you. I do think, however, that you gave Piya quite a fright.”

Allura raises her hand, and from behind her neck steps one of the mice, the smallest one with the biggest eyes.

“They have names?” Pidge asks, scrubbing at their face because it's tight from tear-streaks and itches.

“Of course they do!” Allura replies, as if the very idea of them not having them is absurd. “See, this one is Piya...”

Pidge listens, honestly fascinated, to the stories behind the mice’s names, the snapshots of Allura’s childhood they offer. The way Allura lights up about Altea, how her voice becomes stronger and her face becomes smoother is really great to see. Pidge had been so sorely mistaken, at first.  
Maybe having a princess isn’t so bad.


	3. Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro needs to stop worrying so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A misfire!fill from the Voltron Kink Meme.

"I know you're there."

Shiro steps out from the shadows in which he was nervously lurking, rubbing the back of his neck. He has to admit that the tone of her voice isn't what he would have liked to here – sharp, cutting, like a knife-edge – but at least she didn't order him to leave, either.

“I wanted to check on you,” he murmurs. Many years ago, his grandmother used to tell him to never let the sun go down on a fight. There's so many suns in space, but none of them make a division between night and day, and the nightcycle is about to start on the castleship.

“I don't need your mollycoddling,” she snaps. She doesn't turn away from the window she's staring out of, curled up on the windowseat with a blanket around her shoulders.

He hadn't meant to try and control her. He hadn't meant to try and keep her caged, or assume she was any less capable than any one of his fellow Paladins. Ever since her capture, he's been worried, so worried... he never wants to see that happen to her again. It hurt too much.

“I'm not here to mollycoddle you,” he says, fighting to keep his stance open, his arms at his sides, neutral. “I'm here to... to apologise.”

Her head moves slightly, and he can see more of her cheek now, the tip of her nose. He swallows.

“I'm sorry. I know you're strong, I know you're brave, I know you'd die for the universe without hesitation, but...” He takes in a shuddering breath, hands clenching. “I'm terrified.”

She turns fully now, pale eyebrows drawn together in confusion laced with suspicion. “Terrified of what?”

He doesn't know where he finds the courage, but he crosses the floor, sits next to her, takes her hand. “Losing you again,” he says. “Allura... you might think you're expendable, but I don't. You... you're important. To me. To all of us. We care about you.”

She looks down at their hands, slowly drawing her gaze back up to his. Her eyes glow as the lights around them dim, the castleship going into the power save mode they call the nightcycle. Not for the first time, he thinks she's beautiful.

“How important am I to _you_ , Shiro?” she asks, and her voice is so tiny then, so meek and afraid, nothing like her usual, composed self. In combat she is anything but fragile, but right now, with only him as witness, she is. She's porcelain, she's spun glass, she's a bloom in the face of a frost.

“The most important,” he replies. He needs to be honest. These feelings have been bottled for so long, raging inside him, crying out, and he can't keep them inside any longer, not when all it is is pain. “Allura, I...”

He cups her cheek with his left hand, brushes the marking beneath her eye with his thumb. She shivers, eyes fluttering, lips slightly parted.

“You'd save me again and again, wouldn't you?” she says, shaking her head, her tone exasperated but a smile gracing her full lips.

“Every time,” he says fiercely.

It's her that closes the distance between them, pressing their lips together, her delicate hands on his face. His fingers weave into her hair and he pulls her closer, his entire body relaxing in a way it hasn't for what seems like an eternity. He hasn't felt like this in months, more than a year.

“OH MY GOD, _THANK YOU_!”

They fly apart, Allura's face brilliant red and his mimicking it. They turn to the door and find five spectators peering inside. Lance looks ebullient, whooping and punching the air.

“About time,” Keith says, shaking his head in disgust.

“We thought you were never going to get round to it,” Coran admits.

“How... how long have you been there?” Shiro asks, voice cracking from embarrassment.

“We barely heard anything,” Hunk reassures them. “You guys were talking too low, but we saw the smooch.”

“Am I the only one that didn't see this coming?” Pidges asks, adjusting their glasses. “Like, really? Am I just dumb?”

“Not everyone flirts as badly as Lance,” Hunk says. Lance glares at him.

Allura buries her face in her hands, the tips of her ears practically glowing. “This is so embarrassing,” she mumbles. Shiro privately agrees. Externally, he scowls.

“Ok, ok, you've seen it, now can you maybe... leave?”

Coran nods sagely. “Of course, of course! Privacy for the new couple, we understand!” He chivvies the younger Paladins away, smiling back at them. “Allura knows where the lubricant is!”

“ _Coran_!”

Allura looks like she's about to have a heart attack. Shiro feels much the same way. He can barely look at her, and it takes an immense amount of effort to do so.

“So, uh...”

She tugs at the hair that curls around her cheek, biting her lip, and she's... adorable. He kisses her, quick, chaste, before he can even register it, and she giggles, bright and musical, like the chiming of a silver bell.

The universe will always be bright, as long as Allura is in it.


	4. Safe to Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is a distraction she could do without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised I never moved this over to Ao3. Oops. So here you go!

He's a distraction she could do without.

Something about him calls to her. She is always finely tuned to his presence, like she can sense him in a way that goes beyond her normal perception. It takes all her willpower not to let her gaze slip over him appreciatively whenever he enters her field of vision. She should be more composed, more disconnected from any desires beyond Zarkon's destruction. Her resolution should be steel, her inner strength unwavering.

Eons ago and parsecs away she would not have resisted, but those were happier times, no worry, no war. Now she is the leader of a rebellion that is like a breeze against a mountain, and she must be strong. She must _not_ give in to this longing. But oh, he is a _temptation_ , a cruel, beautiful temptation. She had not expected, when they first met, to be so attracted to him.

Of course, anyone would appreciate a body as finely sculpted as his, the hard planes of his chest (oh, his clothing is so tight it's unfair), the broad sweep of his shoulders, the thick mass of his arms and thighs. She catches herself wondering what he would be like with more skin on display, biting her lip before harshly admonishing herself for such inappropriate frivolity. She has dreams about him, vivid ones that have her waking up breathless and aching, the emptiness inside her like a great void only he could fill. They feel so real, so potent, that to wake up to empty arms and an empty bed is torture. The phantom sensations of his lips on hers, his hands wandering her body, the heat of him inside her haunt her even when she is awake. Sometimes she can't look at him, too ashamed of the shadow puppetry of her mind.

His face is extremely pleasant to look at as well. His jaw is strong, but his smile is soft, and his eyes are always full of warmth. Even his ears, so hideous at first, have proven to be quite adorable to her. There is a softness, a tenderness to him that at first she was surprised to see, but then when she came to know him, thought it blatantly obvious. Shiro without his affection would not be Shiro. She also notices, in the lines that show when he thinks nobody can see, the pain, the ache, the exhaustion. He never seems to rest, and in that she sees a kindred spirit, one she should reach out to, and comfort. She _wants_ to comfort him, give back some of the affection he so generously bestows on others.

That is, of course, when she realises she has fallen, brutally and painfully and in a way she could never have predicted. She is lost to what she feels now, weak and pathetic and not as composed as she should have been.

At first, she feels nothing but bitterness. How could she have been so foolish? But then she sees him and she is lost once more and it is an endless cycle of attempting to rise and falling again. Her heart bursts when she sees him, joy and pain merging together to create some strange hybrid that almost drives her to tears.

However, it is easily dismissed as mere infatuation. It will pass, like so many others have. Being in such close proximity can only make someone annoying, after a while. If she avoids unnecessary contact, she should be fine.

Of course, it doesn't work. From the moment she swears to avoid him, he is always there, ever-present, the sweetest thorn in her side. As the only other person on the ship close to him in mental age, he seems to naturally seek out her company... not to mention they both have a habit of wandering when sleep is hard to come by. They have conversations that last hours in the ship's nightcycle. Shiro tells her of Earth, of tales of their planet and history and seemingly infinite cultures. She, in turn, tells of Altea, until the pain grows too powerful to ignore, almost physical, clawing at her chest like a caged beast.

When her voice falters and the tears threaten, she takes a deep breath. His face is always concerned, voice always gentle when he utters “it's ok, Princess.” What wouldn't she give to allow herself to be weak and let him hold her, comfort her, but she daren't. She _daren't_. She can't let these feelings deepen, worsen. She cannot allow herself to be weak.

She had known she was expendable from the start. Voltron is nothing without its Paladins, but a Princess it can certainly do without. Shiro, however, is not of the same mind, and when they are reunited, he is equal parts furious and relieved.

“I thought I- we'd lost you!”

She does not miss the correction. Against her better judgement, she hoards it, clutches it to her desperately, allowing herself to build daydream castle upon its tiny foundation.

“Without all of you there is no Voltron!” she argues.

“Who cares about Voltron?!” he snaps back, and she is shocked.

“Who will save the universe if not Voltron?” she asks, aghast. She cannot believe what she has just heard. He rakes a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth, looking furious. He will certainly be angry when he next says something.

“What's the point of the universe without you in it?” he says, and his voice is soft and gentle, almost lost. She gasps. He looks like he's uttered some filthy word, like he's completely destroyed something.

“Oh God,” he mutters. “I... I'm so sorry.”

He turns, back rigid, shoulders hunched, but she can't let him leave.

“Wait!”

A hand around his wrist, hope beyond hope.

“Shiro, I...” She lowers her gaze, fingers stuttering against his pulse.

“Princess...”

She cannot do this anymore. The wall of her resolve is crumbling against the incessant tide of her emotions, she is _exhausted_.

She takes the step forward she needs, presses her forehead to his collarbone, her hands alighting, ever-so-gently, on his belt. She closes her eyes, allows herself to bask in how close he is, the warmth of his body, his scent (mechanical lubricant, the neutrality of the castleship's soap and the salt of his sweat), the thud of his heart.

If she has misread everything, if she is refused, then let it be so, and she can treasure this moment, hold it dear even as her heart shatters to pieces. She will have had this, and it will have been worth it.

His hands find her shoulders, and she steels herself to be pushed away, jaw set. He doesn't. He enfolds her in his embrace, lips pressed to the crown of her head, and she surrenders with a sigh of relief, arms curling around his waist, face buried in his neck. If this is weakness, then let her be feeble, let her be a sandcastle standing in vain against the rising sea, because she has never been this happy since she woke up and everything and everyone she loved was dead.

“I can't tell you how long I've wanted this,” he says on barely a whisper, voice trembling. She takes in a shuddering breath, almost sobbing, clinging to him. If she could fuse with him, mix their essences so they could never be pulled apart again, she would. How long has she been fighting these inexorable feelings?

How long has she been denying her love for him?

She doesn't know how long they stand there, wrapped in each other, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the fact she is in his arms, and for the first time in so long, it feels like she belongs. The universe could end and she would be content, for it will have ended with her knowing what Shiro's embrace is like.


	5. Eyes that Cannot See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie, wasn't season 3 just the most disappointing pile of shit ever?
> 
> For my friend Harley, who prompted it on Tumblr.

When they’d entered the cockpit and found the pilot seat empty, a masterless bayard the only thing left of the Black Paladin, it had taken every ounce of strength left in Allura’s weary body not to fall to her knees and weep. How she had walked out on her own two legs and addressed the entire crew without faltering, she couldn’t fathom.

As the days dragged on, the fractures began to emerge. Shiro was the glue that held everything together, and without him, they were like flotsam, doomed to be buffeted by the stormy waves of a war that couldn’t be fought. The longer Shiro was gone, the greater the divide became, and she felt she was on one side, and the other four Paladins on the other. She knew they wondered how cold she was, how unfeeling, how unaffected by his sudden vanishing she was. The mice told her things that hurt her badly.

Not only the divide, but the greater the fear became, as well. Without Shiro, there was no Black Lion, and without the Black Lion, there was no Voltron. And with the absence of Voltron came a vulnerability that terrified Allura to her very core.

Of course, that was not the only source of her fear. Without Shiro she felt like something had been torn from her chest, gone completely. While he’d been present, she hadn’t noticed it: she hadn’t been consciously aware of how much he supported her, how happy he made her, how bearable he made her loss and her loneliness. She had told herself, fresh from a ten-thousand-year slumber, that she’d never again make the mistake of taking something for granted. Well, it seemed she had once more, and it made her _ache_.

She put it off. She kept it to herself, because it hurt. It hurt badly enough that it felt like a sword through the heart and ice in her lungs. She stepped into the hangar and stared into the black, dead eyes of the first and greatest of the Lions. It felt like she stood there, staring, for entire revolutions of the universe, a thousand eons passing, before she gained the courage to set a foot forward, then another, and another. She reached out like a blind woman, until her fingertips met cold metal.

“Hello,” she murmured.

There was no response.

“I don’t want it either,” she said. “I feel your pain. He should be here, and he’s not. I wish he was.” She clutched at her chest, feeling a frozen grip around her heart. “A part of me is gone too.

“But we… we have a _duty_. We have things we must do, both you and I. And only you and I can do them. Until he’s back.”

Because he _would_ be back. He _would_. Allura repeated the words in her mind enough that she knew them to be true.

“Only until then,” she continued, her throat tightening around her words and the deeply-buried but not-enough thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t come back. She slapped those thoughts to the side with as much mental strength as she could summon. “Only until he’s come back to us. Until we both have him back.”

_Was that a flicker..?_

“Keep trying, it’s not gonna work.”

She turned. Keith’s face was twisted, embittered. Keith was volcanic, rage always latent below the surface, but now he was a pot constantly threatening to boil over. He didn’t know how to deal with his pain, and he lashed out, he hurt others, and perhaps he hurt himself as well.

She turned back to the Black Lion. “I cannot do anything but keep trying. There’s no one else around and the universe still needs us.”

“Eager to replace him, huh?” Keith spat. Allura whirled back round, white hot fury dashing through her, crackling.

“Shiro can _never_ be replaced!” she snarled back. “How dare you insinuate such things?!”

Keith scowled right back, his eyes vicious. “So what then, you’re just sweet talking Black for _fun_?”

It took every drop of self-control she had to not slap him across the hangar. She took as deep a breath as she could, held it, drew blood from her palm from how hard she clenched her fist.

“No. I’m the only one who can pilot her in Shiro’s absence,” she said, her voice quivering as she tried to keep it steady and not rise to Keith’s bait.

Keith stomped forward, closer to her, face impossibly furious. “Bullshit!” he snapped. “Shiro said I had to lead if he wasn’t around!”

For a moment she was stunned, and then she was offended. The man who had rightly realised these were her Lions dared to say such a thing? Over her authority? She beat it down: for all she knew, Keith was lying – she could not put it past him, after all.

“You have your own Lion,” she said coldly. “And you cannot replace Shiro any more than I can.” She turned back to the Black Lion. “In the end, it is her choice, not ours.”

_But she’d better not choose Keith,_ Allura thought tartly.

“Whatever,” Keith growled, storming from the hangar, most likely bound for the training room and another round of vicious robotic destruction.

Once he was gone, Allura deflated. She collapsed against the Lion’s muzzle, breathing heavily. Holding in her anger had required more energy than she’d ever thought possible. She wrapped her arms around herself and let out a sob.

“Why can’t they understand how much I miss him?” she whispered. “W-why can’t they see I don’t want to do this without him?”

Tears drew stripes down her cheeks, heavy and exhausting and full of something she hadn’t allowed herself to express for days. Her knees gave way and she slid to the floor, her sobs echoing around the hangar.

She curled up against the Black Lion’s unforgiving, cold form, shaking violently with every wail. “I want him back! I want him back!” she screamed, until her throat was raw and the emotion had overflowed to the point of emptiness. Cold weariness filled in the void, seeping into the cracks and making her limbs like lead.

Eyes sore and blurry from tears, skin tight on her cheeks, she let her head fall back, tilted up, unseeing at the ceiling of the hangar.

And where she’d imagined a flicker, there was now a steady light.


	6. For a Good Night's Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've officially bumped up the rating on this anthology, it seems. Oops.
> 
> This one was for Socks/Braincoins, from another Tumblr prompt.

Clad in only the black undersuit of his armour, Shiro throws himself down on one of the couches, melting into the cushion with a rumbling sigh.

He tilts his head back, knuckles digging into his temples. His head pounds, and he feels weariness deep in his bones, but he’s still so wound up, taut like a bowstring, that he knows he’ll never sleep tonight. He can still hear countless hours of arguing ringing in his ears, voices rising along with tempers that he tries to calm, but to no avail.

“You look exhausted,” says a familiar voice, and it soothes his aches as slim but strong hands glide over his shoulders and firmly knead the tension in his muscles. He opens his eyes and smiles wearily up at Allura, who tilts forward to capture his lips in an upside-down kiss.

“You know,” he says, when she pulls away, continuing her massage, which feels amazing, “there was a really old superhero movie where that happened. Except he was hanging from a fire escape and it was in the rain.”

Allura chuckles. “I only understood half of that, my love,” she says. “I fear your tiredness has started to affect your brain.”

“Hopefully it’s not permanent,” he mutters with his own brief, soft laugh. Her hands leave his shoulders, much to his disappointment, and she circles the couch until she is in front of him. Tonight she is even more of a sight for sore eyes than usual.

She doesn’t sit next to him, however. He straightens up in his seat, eyes widening, when she kneels, parting his legs with ease.

“Allura, wha-”

She shushes him with a finger to his lips, her smile turning dangerously suggestive. “I know an excellent remedy for weariness,” she says, smooth as silk, and his tiredness means nothing when Allura wants something, because what Allura wants, Allura damn well gets. He settles back down, knowing that resistance is futile when the reward is _so_ worth it, and watches her finger trail from his lips, over his chin, down his body. She then reaches up and gathers her hair up into her physics-defying, no-nonsense bun. She means business. He’s already half-hard, just from anticipation.

She leans forward, nuzzling at his hardening cock through the fabric of his pants, teasing the waistband with her fingertips. He swallows, breath hitching, as her mouth presses against him, a gentle hum rippling through him. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, slow enough to be torture, she draws his pants down, dragging his boxer-briefs with them, the cooler air of the castle bringing up goosebumps on his bared skin.

Her lips press softly against the underside, his length hardening under her touch, and she smiles in sultry satisfaction when he’s fully erect, exactly how she wants him. Her eyes meet his, burning hot, full of promise, and he lets a soft groan escape him.

“Allura…” he murmurs, left hand reaching for her, tentative, worshipful. She’s a vision between his legs, and she knows it, she knows exactly what she does to him, unravelling him without even touching him yet.

And then her mouth is on him, hot and wet and _so damn good._

His head tilts back, he groans, deeper, it comes right from his core. She hollows her cheeks, sucking hungrily, dragging her tongue up his length. She’s not in the mood to tease tonight. Her head bobs with each drag she takes on his cock, so good, so perfect, so head-spinningly amazing.

He weaves his fingers into her hair, fighting to keep his hips still as she keeps driving him closer to the edge, gasping her name. She draws back, licking a strip up the underside, swirling her tongue around the tip, drawing his foreskin back and teasing the slit, once, twice, three times, until Shiro’s brain short-circuits from the stimulus.

He looks down at her, and her eyes meet his again, drawing him into the sight of her wrapping her lips around his cock again, unable to tear his gaze away as she gets back into the rhythm of sucking him off for all she’s worth. She hums around her mouthful, as if it’s something delicious, and the sensation plucks him like a harpstring. He’s close, so close, balls tight and close and she knows, of course she knows.

Her hand dips between his legs, her mouth never faltering even as she cups his balls, rolling them in her palm, teasing where they meet his body. She thumbs the underside of his cock, where she won’t reach with her lips, and moans, deep and hungry and that’s all Shiro needs.

She holds him down through it, one deceptively strong hand on his hips, but he comes, feeling the lightning bolt of orgasm along every vein, pouring into her mouth, unable to stop a cry of her name. He goes limp, watches her swallow, wipe her mouth with her knuckle and smirk wickedly.

“Jesus,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, watching her rise from the floor and settle in his lap.

“Enjoyable, was it?” she teases, tilting his head up for a long, deep, slow kiss. He can taste himself on her tongue, the knowledge sending a thrill up his spine. He hums into the kiss, half-agreement half-enjoyment, and lets his hands wander her curves.

When she pulls back, arms looped loosely around his neck, her smile turns soft. “I hope you’ll get a good night’s sleep now,” she says, and he’s always so surprised how intimate a blowjob can be when she looks at him like that, tender, gentle, tucking his hair back and nuzzling the side of his face.

He kisses the lobe of her ear, the delicate line of her jaw, whatever he can reach. “I definitely will,” he says, and he means it.


	7. Dawning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was for Rex501st on Tumblr!

She’s happy they decided to take this step, she thinks. Her bed had always been painfully empty when he left, and waking up to his warmth so intimately close, arms wrapped loosely around her, breath soft and deep against her neck, is something she is certain she will not be able to give up after this. This is all very well and charming, but something makes her frown. While the rest of him is limp and soft, the something that is making her frown is _very_ stiff indeed.

Curiously, she reaches down between them, biting her lip. She knows perfectly well what it is, considering she’d seen it plenty of times before this, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting it when its owner was still slumbering away. Her hand brushes over him, heat and hardness under her palm, and it twitches in interest, along with a rumble that sounds more like a purr.

This isn’t something she’d ever encountered before, and she’s had her fair share of trysts with various species. It doesn’t occur in Alteans, that’s for sure. She can’t fathom what biological function this might serve, but it’s not… unpleasant. She licks her lips, touch becoming slightly more insistent, and Shiro stirs, arms tightening around her, pulling her closer, though he is still more than half-asleep. His cock slides against the curve of her arse, his hips moving in a sleepy, discordant rhythm, and she hums in approval. She’d rather he was fully awake, though.

This prompts her to turn her head slightly. “Shiro?” she says. He makes a noise, gravelly with drowsiness, and she gently rocks back, slow, teasing, just enough to apply some pressure to him.

“Keep doin’ that,” he mumbles, nuzzling at the back of her neck, half-buried in her hair, and she chuckles.

“Not until you tell me what’s brought this on,” she says, inquisitiveness winning over need. He groans.

“Tease,” he mutters. “And it happens every day?”

Allura frowns, rolling over in his arms until she faces him. She sees his eyes trail down, from her face to her chest, sleep-addled brain devoid of inhibitions, and she studiously tights her arms, for emphasis. She enjoys the way he licks his lips.

“Every day?” she asks. She spreads one of her hands across his chest, flicking a nipple with her thumb, looking down between them to his pleasantly impressive erection. While they’ve made love plenty of time, this is the first they’ve shared a bed through the night. He nods.

“It’s just morning wood,” he says. That confuses her even more. It must show on her face, because he chuckles, leaning forward just enough to pepper kisses on her cheek, her jawline, her neck. “Happens to most human males. It’s normal. Usually goes away on its own.”

She cannot help the disappointed noise that escapes her, and he chuckles again, deep and rich, breath tickling her collarbone.

“It doesn’t have to,” he adds. That spreads a smile across her face.

“That’s excellent news,” she says, her hand heading lower, trailing over the ridges of his abdomen, circling a finger around his navel, her wrist just brushing his sensitive tip, making him hiss. “I would like to take complete advantage of it.”

He groans against the skin of her breast when her hand encircles him, hips jerking into her touch. His mouth finds her nipple, draws it between his teeth, tongue flickering, sucking hard, making her gasp and tremble even as his hand goes between them, brushing her clit, teasing lower to her slick folds.

“Shiro…” she whimpers. It takes so little for her to drip with desire, when it comes to his touch.  
“What do you want?” he rasps against her skin, thumb circling her clit.

Such a loaded question. Anything and everything he can give her, of course. Whatever he can offer she will happily take, the idea of it enough to make her head spin. So many possibilities. But it is early, and her cunt throbs with longing, and if humans are always so deliciously ready…

“You,” she growls. He grins, less of a smirk and more like the sort of expression one wears when one cannot believe one’s luck, and kisses her again, drawing her leg up, hard cock sliding against her cleft, nice, but certainly not enough.

She reaches between them, taking his cock in hand, lining him up with her entrance, and their hips move together. He sinks into her, filling her so perfectly all she can do is moan into his mouth. He answers with his own groan, pulling her closer, one arm around her while the other stays hooked under her thigh, opening her for him. She winds her arms around him, loving the way he feels inside her, even still like this, but she needs movement.

“Give me what I need,” she purrs, clenching around him, entirely on purpose, just to feel him jerk within her, and hear him utter a muffled whimper.

“Yes,” he replies, breathless, and begins to move exactly how she likes it.

The feeling of him moving inside her is one she is certain she will never, ever tire of. _Hot_ and _thick_ and _hard_ and _perfect_ , filling her exactly how she needs it, his movements steady and deliberate, driving himself deep. She meets him thrust for thrust, holding him as deep inside as he can be for a moment on every movement. Their moans mingle, her hunger for him making her gouge welts in his back, their rhythm speeding up, faster, headier, more desperate, searching for completion.

She could come like this alone, his cock is more than enough, but he reaches his hand between them and fingers her clit, circling, flicking, making her pleasure sharper, driving her closer to a delicious edge she craves. She moans his name in his ear, arching, and she comes, clenching and rippling around him, and he follows, groaning her name like veneration, so deep within her she forgets where she ends and he begins.

He lowers her leg, his cock softening within her, his panting breath hot against her neck. She cannot help but smile, even giggle a little, and he raises his head, his smile slightly bemused.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, tucking her hair from her face, bumping their noses together. She hums happily.

“Humans never cease to amaze me,” she says. “I think I’m going to keep you around in the mornings more often.”

He chuckles, and catches her lips in a long, lazy kiss she gladly answers.


End file.
